Chapter 1: The Song of Yesterday
The first note of the violin hung in the air like a forgotten whisper. It echoed softly through the old, creaking walls of my grandmother’s house, the melody tugging at a place deep inside me I didn’t know existed. I paused, my hand resting on the edge of a dusty shelf filled with old books and trinkets, as the song filled the room. The sound was delicate, almost fragile, like something from a dream I couldn’t quite remember.
It had been years since I’d visited the house—years since I’d thought of my grandmother at all. I had been too busy, too distracted, too wrapped up in the messy details of my life. But now, here I was, back in the dim, forgotten corners of her living room, sorting through the things she’d left behind.
My eyes landed on an old, ornate locket lying on the shelf, its metal surface dull with age. It had belonged to her—my grandmother. She used to wear it all the time, a tiny keepsake she never explained, never shared. I picked it up, feeling the cold weight of it in my hand, and turned it over. The clasp was stubborn, but after a moment, it gave way, revealing a faded photograph tucked inside.
A photograph of a man I had never seen before.
Something inside me stirred—a quiet, inexplicable pull toward the man in the picture. His face was handsome, his expression calm, but there was a certain sadness in his eyes. I couldn’t place it, but I felt like I knew him, like I had seen him before in some half-forgotten memory. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?
As the violin continued to play its mournful tune from the record player in the corner, I brushed my thumb across the photograph. A strange sensation washed over me, a feeling of dizziness, as though the world was spinning. My vision blurred, and the room around me seemed to shimmer and fade. I blinked, trying to steady myself, but the harder I tried to focus, the more everything seemed to shift and warp.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, the spinning stopped.
I found myself standing in a different room—a cold, unfamiliar space with high ceilings and faded wallpaper. The violin music was gone, replaced by the distant hum of a bustling city outside the window. The air was thick with smoke, and the light filtering through the curtains had a gray, almost ominous quality.
I wasn’t in my grandmother’s house anymore.
I stepped back, my heart pounding in my chest, and spun around, trying to make sense of where I was. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them making any sense. I was just standing in her living room—just listening to an old song. How had I ended up here?
And where was here?
Before I could think of a plan, the door creaked open, and a man stepped inside. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him.
It was the man from the photograph.
He was tall, dressed in a dark overcoat, his features sharp and defined, with the same sad eyes I’d seen in the locket. For a moment, we simply stared at each other, the silence between us heavy, filled with questions neither of us could voice. My heart raced. I should have been scared—I should have demanded to know what was happening—but there was something about him, something familiar that calmed me in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, his voice rich with an accent I couldn’t quite place.
“I—” I started, but I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea how I’d ended up in this strange place, with this strange man, but his presence pulled at me in a way I couldn’t ignore. “I don’t understand. Where am I?”
His gaze softened, but there was still a wariness behind it. “Berlin,” he replied. “1953.”
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. “1953?” I repeated, my mind spinning again. That was impossible. There was no way—no way—I could have traveled back in time.
Yet everything around me felt real. The cold air, the muted light, the faint scent of cigarette smoke and dampness. I could hear the distant sound of cars outside, the hum of life in a city I had only read about in history books. Berlin, during the height of the Cold War.
The man took another step closer, his expression unreadable. “You’re not safe here,” he said, his voice low. “You need to leave.”
I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest. “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how to get back.”
For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering over my face as if he was searching for something. Then, with a sigh, he reached out and took my hand. His touch was warm, steady, and I felt a strange sense of comfort wash over me, even as the confusion and fear churned inside.
“I’ll help you,” he said quietly. “But we need to move quickly.”
He led me toward the door, and for a brief moment, our hands lingered together, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down my spine. There was something about him—something I couldn’t explain, couldn’t shake. The way his eyes met mine, the way his presence seemed to fill the room. I had only just met him, but it felt as though our lives were somehow entwined, as though we had known each other long before this moment.
We stepped out into the cold night, the streets of Berlin dark and unfamiliar. The city was alive with the tension of the Cold War, the air thick with suspicion and danger. I had no idea where we were going, no idea what awaited us, but I trusted him—trusted the man from the photograph who had pulled me into this strange, impossible world.
We turned a corner, slipping into a narrow alleyway. He kept a firm grip on my hand, his steps quick and purposeful. My mind raced, but there was no time to ask questions, no time to make sense of the impossible. All I knew was that I wasn’t alone. I had him.
And for now, that was enough.
But as we reached the end of the alley, a shadow moved in the darkness, blocking our path. A figure stepped into the light—a woman, her eyes sharp and calculating. She looked at me, then at the man beside me, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face.
“You thought you could hide her from me?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement. My heart sank.
Whoever she was, she knew exactly who I was.
And I had a feeling she wasn’t going to let me go easily.